


Wake Up

by CharCharizard (ardentfilmgeek)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Dubcon Kissing, Hurt/Comfort, Implied past Kira/Scott, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Minor Injuries, Panic Attacks, References to Hamlet, Serial Killers, motel california references everywhere, quite a few ocs here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-08
Updated: 2014-02-08
Packaged: 2018-01-11 14:45:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1174330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ardentfilmgeek/pseuds/CharCharizard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nothing feels real and everything is cold and nothing is warm. Scott wakes up in the middle of the night screaming with the smell of gasoline and fire. He becomes a walking natural disaster and his hands shake like an earthquake. Everyone tells him he just needs to </p><p>Wake up. </p><p>If insanity gives you power, then sanity made him human. And Scott was going to do all he could to become human again. </p><p>He was going to find his way back home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wake Up

Scott.

He says, dressed in a red hoodie and grey shirt. His fingers - long fingers - twitch as they touch the flare. Scott isn't listening and he grips the flare a bit tighter as his breath hitches. He can't breathe. He can't breathe. He can't

_wake up._

It's not real, he tells himself. It was a dream. He was dreaming. He could feel the heat rushing through his veins from the flare. It was late at night and the smell of gasoline flooded his nose. Perhaps it'd be easier if he was just asleep, or dreaming. Maybe this was all some sort of dream. All the killings, the deaths, and the way people he loved were getting hurt. Maybe it was all some sort of nightmare. Sometimes Scott thinks things would be easier if he was just gone. 

\---

He wakes up in a cold sweat and screams. The sound of laughter echoes in the classroom and Scott jumps up in his seat.

He's in economics class and the entire class is staring at him with big smiles. Stiles gives him a look and Scott lays his head on his arms trying to stay awake. It was just another nightmare, Scott thinks to himself placing the whole event to the back of his head. It's the last thing he needs to worry about anyways. There were other things to take care of anyways, like his father and Mr. Stilinski, Allison's own insane tendencies, Stiles' slow dwindle to insanity, Isaac and Allison, people dying, why Stiles is holding a flare in his hands, why it smells like gasoline again, why he isn't in school anymore...

His fingers twitches and he tilts his head up to look at the scene unfolding in front of him. The smell of fire hits his nose again and Scott lets out a whimper. He grips his hands together and moves forward, gets pushed a step back. His eyes are locked on what's happening.

Someone who looks like him is standing there drenched in gasoline. Stiles stands in front of this Scott doppelganger hesitantly. He mumbles something, takes a step into a puddle of gasoline, before wrapping wrapping his fingers against the flare slowly and carefully, ready to pull it out like he was suppose to.

Only Scott doppelganger decides to change the end of this story, and he quickly grips the flare again and tosses it into the puddle of gasoline underneath them. Red flames rise around them an move towards Scott's direction.

He runs to save the two and gets pushed back again. Scott looks down and sees mountain ash in a circle around the entire area. No problem. He's done this before and he could do it again. He places his hands on the barrier and tries to push through. It's a lot more painful than he remembers, but the sight of his friend's melting skin terrifies him. He closes his eyes and focuses on the barrier, pushing it through as hard as he can and as fast as he can. He doesn't want to lose any more people, especially not his best friend.

But nothing seems to work, and Scott opens his eyes to see the bloody mess that continues. Time is going slower and becoming more agonizing.

He screams in frustration and pushes a bit harder. Yet still, not even a crack through the barrier is happening. He grows desperate. He can't breathe again. Doppelganger Scott smiles gently while his best friend burns burns burns and all he could do is watch.

He wakes up in a cold sweat and screams.

\---

"Scott! _Wake up_!" He hears Isaac's voice but his eyes are still closed. Isaac's hands are on his shoulders, his chest, and they roam all over his body. They move in circular and kind of comforting movements as Isaac tells him to calm down. The last time Scott had woken up like that, he was six and still had two loving parents and and barely could understand death. Since then, Ms. McCall can't remember the last time Scott had a nightmare so bad he ended up waking up the entire household.

She sits on the bed and grabs him, wrapping her arms around her son and holds him so he stops thrashing around the bed. Mr. McCall stares at Scot blankly, never knowing that his son suffered from such bad nightmares. 

She keeps Scott's head on her chest and runs her hands through his hair. He can feel his heartbeat racing, and the ability to control has dwindled incredibly that it terrifies him even more. His body is an earthquake and he's crushing everything in sight and he can't stop himself from doing so.

Scott leans into his mom's touch and wraps his arms around her waist as she shushes him quietly. He's an earthquake and they're forced to run into the natural walking disaster.  After a couple of minutes he stops shaking and holds his mother tightly with his arms wrapped around her waist. But Scott knows there's got to be some after shocks ready to happen soon.

"Does he always do that?"

Ms. McCall doesn't answer at first, and instead looks at Scott with relieved but frightened eyes. "Not usually," she deadpans, giving him look that screams hatred at her magician of a husband, whose main trick is the vanishing act. Mr. McCall gives her a look with no expression while Isaac sits in a corner watching Scott carefully with wide terrified eyes.

"Sweetheart, was it a nightmare?"

Scott nods his head, and he croaks the first thing that pops into his head. "Stiles," he calls out. "Where is Stiles?"

Mr. McCall makes a face like he wants to stab his son's best friend and push him down a well. He never really liked the kid in the first place, and seeing he now had to do with why his son was suddenly screaming in the middle of the night made him dislike him even more. 

But Scott doesn't pay attention much, and instead pushes his mom away and gets up. "Where's Stiles?" He repeats and looks back to Isaac as if he was the only person who would understand him. "Where's Stiles?"

The three of them stare him blankly. Scott sits up and feels the aftershock coming in faster as frustration pushes through him. He repeats the question. Where is Stiles. Where is Stiles. Where is Stiles. Where is Stiles. Where is Stiles.

They stare at him like he's mad and tell him to calm down. They tell him that Stiles is sleeping and it's too late at night to call him over and that he's perfect fine. Stiles is fine. Stiles will be perfectly and utterly fine when he sees him at school tomorrow. 

But Scott keeps mumbling his question until the words sound wrong and he's staring blankly at the wall. Ms. McCall runs her hands through his hair telling him that he has to find his anchor, and that he has to calm down until tomorrow morning when he will see Stiles, at school, one hundred percent okay.

She tells him he's shaking still, and that it's okay. Sometimes it's okay to be a bit scared. She tells him the same thing as always: that he's not a monster or a bad person. She tells him he can't save everyone.

By the time it's four o'clock he feels his mom shift from her position and lay her assumed asleep son back on his bed. She kisses his forehead with a smile and ruffles his hair. He can hear heavy footsteps from the hallway and his breath stops for a second.

"I told you that kid was nothing but trouble, always was. Since they met." His dad said.

"He just had a nightmare." His mother replied. "He just had to wake up."

"I thought you said his asthma was fine, does he still use his inhaler? And why was he screaming that loud?"

"It is fine. He's fine. He just had to wake up. It was a nightmare."

"Fine- but what is all of this? He's having nightmares, we have some suspicious kid living with us. I thought he was in good hands, it seems like he's not-"

They fight for what seems like hours until heavy footsteps rush downstairs.

  
\---

It's seven in the morning and he has yet to change out of his pajamas. Scott feels a hand to his shoulder. His head is whirling and his body is tensing up. His fingers are still twitching until Isaac spins him around to look at him. They talk to each other through their expressions and Isaac furrows an eyebrow and Scott shakes his head. He squeezes his shoulder gently as Scott looks up at him with wide eyes.

"I need to make sure he's okay."

Isaac sighs and stares out the window. "Why?" He asks, rubbing the back of his neck. Scott rubs his temples, runs a hand through his hair. Part of him doesn't want to go to school, but the other part of him knows he has to. "It was just a dream."

It was after all, just a dream. And Scott knew it was. But the thin line of sanity and insanity was disappearing even if he practiced all the techniques. Count from one to ten, and always making sure he had ten fingers in total. He was awake, and had yet to go back to sleep. But something about it didn't seem right, and if anything, was scaring him.

Somehow the red was still there, every time he'd close his eyes. Specs of light that seeped through suddenly turned into fire and Scott could smell gasoline and burning skin that reminded him again, he couldn't save everybody. But then, it felt like he couldn't and didn't save anyone. And he just had to save everyone, he just had to. He was Scott anyways. Scott  who had to be the hero, the true alpha he was. He had to be a leader, and had to stop letting people get hurt. Too many deaths had happened and infested inside him. They were, after all, his fault anyways. All his fault.

" _Wake up._ " Isaac mumbles, grabbing Scott's shoulders. He shakes him gently.

" _Wake up_ , you were falling asleep again. Do you really want to go to school today?"

Scott nods his head and Isaac stares at him blankly for a moment, unsure how smart that idea was. But instead of arguing Isaac points to the door and gestures Scott to follow him when he was ready.

He dresses in silence, and it takes a few minutes to gather movement in his limbs. Slowly though, Scott manages to throw on a shirt and some pants on. His fingers are shaking too much still. 

Breathe, he reminds himself before Scott inhales deeply. It was going to be okay, as long as he stayed awake. 

\----

Half of class revolves around staring at Stiles, and pretending to not stare at Stiles.

Granted, he actually had a reason to keep staring at his best friend other than the fact he had a nightmare about him the night before. Abd Scott found himself drifting away from the discussion and instead studied the newly formed bruises on Stiles' face. His eyes wandered from the bruise on his eye he knew wasn't accidental or because of some 'good old fashioned clumsiness' and stretched all the way the lines on the side of his shoulder. He counts the number of scratches hidden underneath the sleeve of Stiles' jacket while the clock ticks. Random people start staring at him and Scott lies his head on his arms and closes his eyes once he finishes counting the cuts on Stiles' fingers. There's no use to paying attention at the moment anyways.

But by the time he's settled in, he could hear seats moving, and people walking around. They just went to class ten minutes ago; he was sure it wasn't already time to go. He feels a tap to his shoulder and tilts his head up slightly.

"So, do you mind telling me why you called me twelve times last night?"

Scott gives him a look, his eyes half-closed.

"Well then sleepy wolf, I assume you had a bad night." Stiles laughs as he sits in front of the other teen, copying his position. Scott could feel Stiles' eyes on him before feeling a hand on his shoulder again. The teacher tells him to _wake up_ and work on the assignment. It's group work, not nap time.

So Scott simply shifts a little in his seat, looks down at the paper in front of him before shoving it aside. He stares down at the paper and sighs at the random nonsense he sees on the page before going back to lay his head against his desk. "I have no idea what half these questions even mean." Scott says with a short laugh.

Stiles nods his head in response with a smile. "That's why you don't fall asleep in class, I kept telling you to _wake up._ "

He shrugged. "I couldn't sleep last night, nightmares and all Sorry about the calls. But let's not talk about it."

"We have to talk about it at some point. Are you okay dude?"

"Let's not talk about it."

The two of them sit there for a moment, and Scott could hear the scribbling of pencils and pens against the paper. He really shouldn't let the nightmare inhibit him from living. It was just a dream anyways, he was awake then. Everything was going to be okay. Lifting his head up enough to take another stab at the worksheet, he catches a glimpses of Stiles' face and stares at him a bit longer than he initially intended.

"It's nothing." Stiles tells him as Scott feels a bit off guard by the comment. He could see where the bruise forms around his eye, the scratches not only on his face, but on the side of his neck, and slightly where his chest is. Scott wants to offer to help him heal, but Stiles shrugged off any forced healing awhile ago when he wanted to 'learn to deal with pain himself'. "It's nothing, seriously."

"Let's not talk about it?"

"Let's not talk about it."

Scott shrugs his shoulders and grabs the paper beginning to scribble answers. Stiles does the same thing and moves his hand so Scott could see the answers he wrote and vice versa. The two of them decide which ones they ask to copy from Lydia before the bell rings.

  
\---

  
It's all fire again. They're in the woods and surrounded by fire. Just fire. Stiles stands in front of him and burns. Scott's trapped in a circle of mountain ash.

If a boy screams in the middle of the woods and only one currently burning person is around to hear it, does he make a sound?

He screams a bit louder.

\---

  
Seeing Stiles in class should have been enough to cause Scott to calm down.

Besides the minor but also deal-able injuries, Stiles was perfectly and utterly fine. 

  
But for some reason Scott could feel his throat tightening up in the middle of lunch as his fingers grip against the table so hard he could feel the metal crushing underneath his fingers. He blinks and sees fire. He blinks and sees emptiness. It switches from a cafeteria to a tradgedy.

They're in the motel again. The sound of Stiles' screaming echoes from lunch until the office calls his dad to pick him up.

  
\---

  
The next couple of days are the same.

Scott wakes up screaming in the middle of the night, the entire McCall household walk in, and his mom cradles him to sleep. Sometimes his dad does it and sometimes Isaac does it. And Scott closes his eyes, and grips the sheets so hard until his hands are in small little fists covered in blood. If pain makes you human, then he's going to pull himself into as much pain as possible until he feels human again.

His mom tells him to skip school, but every morning is the same shaky routine of getting dressed and trying to put things away. He started getting rides from his mom and dad when the shaking made it hard to ride his bike. His eyes had started to grow bags underneath them. Scott knows he's a walking trainwreck.

The dreams have scattered their way to different variations, different scenes. Sometimes it's Stiles and him in the motel, other times it's the top of the hospital. Sometimes they're in blank white rooms that seem to go on for miles. But every time Scott could smell the scent of gasoline in the air and flesh burning to the bone.

And he screams. Louder each time. It gets to the point he screams in his sleep according to Isaac, when Scott asks him what just happened as he stares down at the wide-eyed guy who's looking at him like he's a monster. Sometimes it's just screaming, sometimes he just sits up mumbling _'wake up'_. All according to Isaac. It hasn't stopped, only gotten even louder and more frequent from when he first started saying it apparently.

Stiles comes to school more beaten everyday, and Scott can't help but count the number of bruises that cover up his face or the finger prints that line up on his neck. He counts every cut against his arm until he starts to lose track and stops at around twenty nine each time, more and more are forming. They both tell each other they'd prefer not to talk about what happened to them that night.

Curiosity starts to infest inside though, he'll admit.

Scott stays in his room the rest of day, back against the wall. Scott fumbles with his thumbs and stares downwards trying to ignore his parents fighting downstairs. Isaac's at Allison's and Scott doesn't have to focus his hearing to know they're probably talking about him.

He slumps in his position and stares at the ceiling. His hands are still shaking and a part of him feels paralyzed.

"Yoink."

He jumps and stares at his window, before looking up at Stiles. He smiles brightly at his best friend and despite the more constant three am walk-ins, Scott's pretty grateful to keep his window open and wide enough for the body of an awkwardly limbed sixteen year old to slip through. He slumps back into his former position.

"Hey, _wake up_. Don't be like that." Stiles tells him as he sits next to Scott. He could feel the other ruffle his hair and leans into the touch for a bit. "It's only four o'clock, we should do something. Play video games or eat junk food or play a prank on coach or something."

Scott shrugs his shoulders and closes his eyes.

"Hey no, _wake up_. C'mon Scotty, what's the problem? Is it the whole eternal darkness for rest of our lives thing?"

Scott shrugs his shoulders and keeps his eyes close. Stiles sighs. "Scott, you have to tell me what's wrong eventually. I'm getting worried, Lydia and Allison are getting worried. Isaac too. Kira's been asking where you've been. We could at least get you out of here. I don't think you want to sit around and listen to that for an hour." he points to the door, his dad's voice has gotten louder. "C'mon Scott, just _wake up_. For me."

Scott opens his eyes just enough to see the smile on Stiles' mouth. He lifts his head up and rests his head on the other's lap. Stiles rolls his eyes and ruffles Scott's hair.

"You're like a puppy." He laughs and continues the action, every strand of hair getting pulled by his fingers. Scott can't remember he functionally brushed his hair. "But we need to talk. I have over Forty three messages, all from a certain puppy." He laughs a bit louder, pausing to stare off into the distance with a serious look. "Text and voicemail messages. My phone can't hold anymore. They're getting freakier."

"What do you mean by freakier?"

Stiles doesn't respond, but rather presses the play button on his phone.

 **Voicemail One:** "Stiles, it's Scott. Hey are you awake? Let me know once you've gotten this message okay?"  
 **Voicemail Two:** "Stiles, hey you haven't called me. I guess you're sleeping, but uh. Let me know once you've gotten my message okay?"  
 **Voicemail Three:** "Are you okay?"  
 **Voicemail Four:** "You're not hurt are you?"  
 **Voicemail Five:** Silence.  
 **Voicemail Six** : Weird noises he can't distinguish.  
 **Voicemail Seven:** "Stiles, _wake up wake up wake up wake up wake up wake up wake up wake up wake up_."  
 **Voicemail Eight:** " _Wake up wake up wake up. WAKE UP WAKE UP WAKE UP WAKE UP WAKE UP WAKE UP_ -."

Stiles presses the stop button and Scott lifts his head up to grab his phone. Seven of the forty three have been played, and they're all from him. He notices the fact Stiles had already listened to all them, and admittedly feels a bit of comfort in that.

But the ambiguity of the messages and the slow pyramid of his voice were terrorizing him. And Scott could smell the gasoline again and closes his eyes to see fire. _Wake up_ , he could hear replaying in his head. He could hear the sound of the words escaping his lips and float in the air like smoke. Scott shakes a bit more, feels his throat close up and tighten. His lips become dry and he grabs a fistful of his bed sheets yanking them hard.

He feels a hand on his hip, another still twisting the knots in his hair. He leans into the touch and ignores the smell of gasoline for the smell of sweat and soft drinks and french fries cooked in a bit too much oil.

Stiles doesn't tell him to wake up. The phrase becomes a bad word.

 

\---

  
It feels a bit different meeting up with Allison just by himself. But Scott can't help but smile at the brown eyed girl in front of him. She still radiated the beauty he remembers when they met for the first time, and she always will. But he knows if he said that it would escalate to a mess load of trouble.

So Scott simply still smiles, and compliments her jacket. She blushes and points out that he looks a bit better than he had a few weeks ago. She asks him if he's been sleeping and Scott shrugs sheepishly.

Sleeping hadn't entirely ever been his forte in the first place though, since freshman year he could recall staying up until three in the morning with caffeine shot up in his veins and empty 24-hour energy bottles scattered around his desk. But he could handle it, and without bloodshot eyes or messy hair or awkward phone calls to his friend, Scott could handle being awake to do that homework or this assignment or even practice for lacrosse.

But whatever it was that was happening right then, it was obvious he couldn't handle it. Not that he wasn't going to try anyways.

Allison touches his arm. That feeling lost its electric when he saw her kissing his roommate/friend/pack mate. He still smiles though and touches her hand, fingers grazing hers in reassurance. It feels cold right then.

"Scott, you're worrying all of us. I hope you realize that." Allison comments, and he nods his head. She looks at him like a mother would look at a child who ate the candy lying on the shelves. Her hand rubs circles against his arm. "How long has it been since you had a decent amount of sleep?"

Scott shrugs again. "I had a pretty good night yesterday." He responds and rubs his tired eyes. "Stiles stayed over and I knocked out in the middle of Star Wars. I'm pretty sure he's going to yell at me when he comes over this afternoon."

She laughed. "I'm sure of it. But that explains why you didn't fall asleep during math class today, the teacher was surprised you didn't even lay your head on your desk." Allison hummed and Scott played with his thumbs for a moment, eyes looking downward. "Just let me know if anything happens alright?"

Scott nodded. "Alright. Uh," he chewed against his lip and took a sip of coffee trying to think of a new conversation topic. "So how's the uh love life going?"

"Fine. How about you?

"Not happening."

Allison furrowed an eyebrow. "What about-"

"We decided we both really weren't interested in having a relationship at the moment." He grinned. "After we kissed though, it was a bit awkward I mean. I thought romantic walk in the woods were romantic, but it was more friendly than it was charming."

"Huh." Allison hummed a bit louder, her hand gripped Scott's arm a bit tighter. 

"How about anyone else?"

Scott chuckled. "Honestly, Stiles is the only person I ever spend my time with now a days."

\---

Coming home is the same routine. And walking in Scott prepares to find his dad situated in the same spot in the kitchen table, typing on his laptop or writing notes in his notebook. He sits down in front of him and decides to knock some time off while he waits for Stiles to come over. His dad gives him a look and furrows an eyebrow. It's the first time he's seen his son without them being in a police station, a principal's office, or in his room with him experiencing some sort of panic attack.

It's like a careful game of chess, and Scott decides to do the first move. "Hey."

His dad stares at him carefully and watches his features. "Hey there Scott." He smiles, testing the waters first. Whatever it is that Scott wanted he wasn't going to give into it so easily. Mr. McCall stops his typing and decides to pay his full attention to his son. "What are you up to?"

Scott shrugged his shoulders. "Stiles was going to come over to play video games."

He knew it was coming, the kid who he hated hanging around his son. The hyperactive little weirdo he himself didn't like being in the same room with was going to stay at their (his) house for another few hours or spend the night or something. But Mr. McCall shouldn't have been so against Stiles staying over, after all, it was Stiles who seemed to be the cure to Scott's panic attacks. It was Stiles that Melissa or Isaac would call when Scott woke up screaming in the middle of the night. It was Stiles who hugged his best friend and held him until the morning and Scott fell right asleep against his chest.

It was Stiles fucking Stilinski that Scott cried for late at night when he had a nightmare. The kid shouldn't have bothered him as much as he did. But oh boy, did he bug him.

And for a moment, Mr. McCall was going to object to this happening, just this once, for Stiles to not come over. For maybe them, just the two of them, to go out for pizza or burgers or whatever Scott wanted and hang out and catch up. But it was going to take a long time in a long while for Scott to warm up to him again, and he knew that. But Mr. McCall wasn't going to stop trying to be his son's best friend, even if it killed him.

"Do you want me to get you guys pizza?" He asks, and Scott nods his head with a smile. "I'd say you two go outside, but I'd prefer you stay indoors."

"Why?"

Mr. McCall looks at Scott a bit confused before he types something on his laptop, turning it to Scott. "There's been another series of murders around Beacon Hills." He instructed, as Scott read through the lengthy article in front of him, trying to ignore the grammar mistakes. The murders took place in a span of a few weeks, all starting the day the day the nightmares began.

" _Wake up_ , now. Don't fall asleep on me."  His dad says, and Scott laughed softly and nodded his head, rubbing his eyes. He read the article with more detail and tried to memorize the time anddate of all the murders, and the location of every body.

Three bodies, all people he thought he knew: Kyle Tomilson, Anita Harrison, Carson Riveter. From what he read Kyle was one year old than him, Anita was some sort of Beacon Hills psycho, and Carson, well Carson was the most normal. All the murders were all in Beacon Hills, in the woods or at the school.

From the sound of it it sounded like any kind of murder around town, but there was something foreign about these murders.

"They were all so skillfully but also clumsily done. They left something in every murder scene. That was clumsy." Mr. McCall told him and Scott could feel his dad hovering behind him as he read through the article himself. "They used weird techniques like firecrackers and knives, but particularly they had a fetish for typing their wrists with wire. I think it was to cause pain if they tried to escape. That was smart. I think one of them had some sort of plant on them." Scott rolled his eyes. The foreign part about the murders was nothing foreign at all. And although a bunch of murders happening wasn't something to take lightly, Scott knew this wasn't anything he couldn't handle.

Looking down at his dad, he noticed the stressed out look on the other's face, the way his fingers reached to rub his temples. Scott looked back to the computer and pushed it down. "Let's stop reading this." He told him. His dad nodded. "I guess you'll figure it out."

Mr. McCall, still lost in thought however, shook his head. "No. I'm /going/ to figure it out." He mumbled. "These people were as innocent as flies. It's not fair they had to die at the sake of some psychopath."

The two of them sat in silence, until the doorbell rang.

\---

"Murders." Stiles repeated as he laid back against the bed. He messed around with the piece of thread in his hands, blue thread. He said it was a pretty color. Scott was wearing the blue shirt he left a few days ago. He really should have worn his own clothes, but for some reason it was easier to sleep at night wearing Stiles'.

He nodded his head though, and paced around the other teenager trying to figure the familiarity between the names. Kyle Tomilson. Anita Harrison. Carson Riveter. He knew the names, but he didn't know the faces. Anita. Anita Harrison. Anita with the red hair, the blonde hair, the brown hair. The dark brown hair. It was short and almond colored. Things were coming back to him again.

"Dude."

"What?"

"Anita was my old babysitter." Scott mumbled. Stiles sat up on his elbows. "When my parents were at work... before I met you. She used to come over and babysit me. She had dark brown hair and wore skirts all the time. "

Stiles nodded this time. "Was she wearing a skirt when she died?"

"Yeah."

"Was it green?"

He paused. "Yeah... How did you know that?"

He could sense a hint of nervousness when he asked the question, but Stiles quickly shook it off. "My dad brought home the reports."

Scott hummed, took the excuse, and continued to pace around the room for a bit longer. The only thing he had to try and figure out was the identities and importance of Kyle and Carson in his life. If they had an importance in his life, he wanted to know how they fit into it somehow. It was like some sort of puzzle, and he was digging through the box to find all the pieces of it. He just had to make everything fit, he just had to-

"Scott, _wake up_." Stiles mumbled and Scott jumped back, staring at his friend blankly. Was he falling asleep again? "Dude, don't stress. My dad's got a lock on this and I'm sure your dad could be a help." He laughed. "Let's play video games or something. I'm ready to beat your high score."

\---

"Anita died in a classroom in Beacon Hills High School, some history teacher's room with the name 'Kira' written on the chalkboard.

Want to know what voicemail was on Kyle's cellphone when we found him in the woods? Isaac.

Want to know what was in Carson's pocket when we found him passed out on the side of the road?"

"Scott." She laughed.

"I might have put you under house arrest if it said that. No, it was a piece of paper that said Allison. Scott's not safe here Melissa, and we both know that."

"What are you saying then?'

He paused. "I think we both know what I'm saying. C'mon, it'll be the easier option and we both want what's best for him-"

This was the first fight he listened to. That night he stays up until the sun rises.

\---

  
Seven cars. That's how many cars have almost hit him in the past week. Seven goddamn cars, three people on bikes, and four people just walking by. If paranoia, nightmares, and the constant screaming in the middle of the night wasn't enough to drive him insane, someone though it would be funny to add in sleep walking too. 

It's always a game too. Follow the deer or the sound of talking. Find the prize at the end of the tunnel. It happens more frequently then and Scott knows he's going insane.

That night he remembers chasing the sound of crying and heavy breathing. He woke up in the morning once the sun rose and Scott found himself lying in the middle of the woods, still in his pajamas (Stiles' lacrosse sweater and his own pants) with the sound of crunched up leaves underneath him.

Also the smell of blood. No gasoline. Was this another hallucination?

He opens his eyes enough to look up and look at the sky, before at the trees around him. Something catches his eye, it's a mile away. He runs.

\---

  
"Dead body number four." Mr. McCall tells Sheriff who cocks an eyebrow at the other. "I'm ninety five percent sure this is from the same serial killer. This person is on the loose and killing too many innocent people. "

They're standing a few good feet away from the body, the Scott could still smell the stench of the person's decaying flesh. Despite being used to the sight of a dead body, Scott couldn't help but turn away from the scene and walk away. This was too much to handle. This was too much to handle. This was too much to handle.

"Dead body number four."

/: :/

"Killing too many innocent people."

:: carson riveter :: anita harrison :: kyle tomilson ::

He feels a scream trapped in the back of his throat. Lydia was the one who usually found the bodies, and somehow there was sort of connection between all those people and him.

Was he the one who killed them?

Was he the one who did it?

"Yo Scott." he paused, hearing Stiles' voice behind him. Offering the other a small smile Scott ran to his best friend's open arms and enjoyed his warmth happily.

"My dad told me everything, you alright?"

Scott didn't answer, instead nuzzled his face deeper into Stiles' chest with his arms wrapped around his waist. These were one of those moments where talking was to a minimal and one best friend's arms around another is the only thing that was important in the world.

They hug each other until Sheriff and Agent realize they've tolerated each other long enough and are on the verge to straggling the other. Stiles tells Scott to check his phone for the rest of the day and expect something.

Walking back to the car, Scott hugs himself and inhales deeply. He can't smell blood as much as he can smell his best friend's arms around him.

\---

"Bro night." Scott repeats to himself somehow finding himself in the back of Stiles' car in the middle of the night with a bag of chips in one hand. Stiles clumsily messes with a bottle of beer cocks an eyebrow and grabs the bottle, opening it one eighth of the time Stiles took to even get the cap to come off slightly.

  
Bro's night was Stiles' suggestion after all and although Scott was still a bit confused by it, he did agree to it like all of the many odd ideas he had agreed to do with his best friend. Not to mention a bro night, a boring yet sentimentally fun bro night on a Friday spent sitting in the back of the Jeep with junk food and mixed CDs. It was a good break in between the dead bodies and hallucinations.

Not to mention, it was the perfect moment to investigate. And Stiles, jittery from five cups of coffee and a pack of Redbull, promised Scott he wouldn't knock out before 12 o'clock like he always did. If anything happened, he'd be awake to save him.

Scott placed a chip on his mouth and tapped his foot to the sound of the music.

Nights like those that Scott couldn't help wonder what would happen if they never tried to find the dead body. Who knew something that wasn't around anymore would be the significant factor of basically everything that had happened in their lives. Everything of course, which now included sleep walking to the nightmares and dead bodies. Scott sunk in the back seat and closed his eyes.

" _Wake up_."

He opened his eyes in a flash and Stiles gave him a look before taking a sip of the bottle. One of the downsides of being a wolf. Alcohol didn't faze him, both a curse and a gift. At least everyone knew who the designated driver would be.

"I think you're going to be the one who hits the 12 o'clock mark." Stiles grinned.

"But hey, if you end up killing someone I'll be sure to stop you."

Scott grimaced. "I didn't kill those people."

"My dad thinks you did." He shrugged his shoulders and pursed his lips together. "And apparently your dad does too, but he doesn't want to admit it. I tried telling him it was you sleepwalking, assuming you've done it more than often. But he thinks that you sleepwalked your way with a knife in your hand."

"That's stupid."

"Yeah... but we're going back to that phase where he's having a hard time believing me again." Stiles rubbed his arm. "He's just stressed out."

Scott stood up in his seat and leaned in closer to his friend, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Once I figure out all of this I'm going to help find out who's been murdering all these people and help your dad not get fired and fix everything."

"Scott-"

He gave his shoulder a small squeeze. "I promise." he told him. "I promise."

  
\---

  
The last thing he could remember is the smell of blood around him, and fire. His insides burn and Scott can taste blood in his mouth. His eyes flash in an instance and he turns to his side.

Dead body number five.

It's Stiles.

 _Wake up_ , Scott. _Wake up._

  
\---

" _Wake up,_ Scott, _WAKE UP_."

He screams and feels his heartbeat go a bit quicker. His heartbeat is an earthquake and Scott is screaming and screaming until his lungs shrivel and he fizzles.

If he doesn't wake up than nothing bad happens. If he doesn't wake up people don't get hurt in reality. If he doesn't wake up he doesn't have to watch people die. If he doesn't wake up, he won't hurt any more people.

Hands and long fingers grab a hold of him. The touch is warm against his skin and Scott opens his eyes enough for him to catch a glimpse of his best friend shaking him. He closes his eyes and stares at him blankly. The smell of alcohol and blood is still strong and Scott could see the heavy beating happening in Stiles' chest.

"Scott." He begins, and raises a hand to caress his face. Scott grabs his wrist, looks down at the blood on his arm. He feels his breath caught in his throat and grips Stiles' arms hard enough he could hear the boy wince. "Scott- Scott I'm fine, don't worry about me. I'm fine, I'm-"

Scott watches him carefully. "You're lying."

"I'm not lying, I'm fine."

"What are you hiding?"

Stiles falls backward. He gives Scott a dumbfound look before rolling his eyes. "I'm hiding the fact I'm secretly an abdominal snowman. You caught me Scotty, congrats." He laughed and patted his shoulder. Scott gripped his wrist a bit harder. "Dude, don't you believe me?"

Scott stared him down. "I believe my best friend, who are you?"

He furrowed an eyebrow. "Yeah- me. It's me Scott, what are you talking about? Dude are you sleep talking or something." The smell of alcohol grew and Scott grabbed Stiles' other wrist and yanked him forward. This guy - whoever he was - who felt like ice and emptiness was not his best friend.

It was hard finding the truth between reality and fantasy and Scott was growing mad. He was lost in his own thoughts about what was happening, and his hands were shaking again even harder than before.

He feels lips pressed hard against his own and long fingers pulling his hair.

  
\---

Both of them wake up with bruised mouths and Stiles finds more marks on his neck.

Scott could remember the way their lips crashed, and the way their lips crashed and long fingers touching his body. Stiles could remember the way Scott's arms still held his wrists, lessened their grip as Stiles pushed him against the side of the car.

Their kisses were electric and clumsy and incredibly awkward. And in between fits of laughter and sloppy mouths against the other's skin Stiles burned at Scott's touch and craved it more than anything. Scott pulled him closer. They still couldn't believe they were kissing each other but Stiles was drunk and Scott was scared and Stiles, every piece of Stiles, had made him calm before and then.

Pain made him human, but Stiles was what kept him breathing.

It was though, the first time Scott had woken up later than in the middle of the night. And Stiles is the first one to open his eyes with a pound headache. The two of them found themselves tangled in each other, legs intertwined and hands being held in the other's. Stiles leaned his head against Scott's neck and inhaled deeply. He could smell the blood on his hands.

It was a stupid plan to kill him that night. But he was so, he was so close to him and Stiles knew he was dangerous and going to hurt Scott. And nothing - nothing - could hurt Scott. Especially some stranger.

He didn't even know his full name- Bryan, Brandon- Braddock? He couldn't remember. Then again he didn't really care. What he did care about was that he was - that - close to being caught.

Stiles scoots away from Scott, and undoes their legs and pushes him away slightly. Scott reaches out to grab him and Stiles kisses the top of his head before tossing his jacket over him with a smile.

Dead body number five is a couple of feet from the car, and Stiles runs to where the body was left and ignores the smell of rotting flesh hard enough to clean himself from the blood on his fingers and scrub in between his nails. His head hurts and everything is blurred around the edges.

He can't let Scott know, not just yet anyways. He'll think he's crazy. He has enough going on anyways. He can't tell Stiles just yet, he can't tell him about what was happening.

"Stiles?"

He turns.

"Scott- I can explain."

Scott stares at him wide-eyed and then back at the body. Out of everyone and everything in the world that was thrown at him Scott didn't know how to respond to this.

Maybe, maybe it was him though. And a glimmer of hope seeped through him hoping it was something done by his own hands rather than his best friend's. He stares at Stiles blankly and waits for this explanation.

Stiles sucks in a breath. "I've been doing it." He tells him. "I'm sorry."

So much for a vivid explanation, and Scott stares at his friend some more with the same blank eyes and confused face. He refused to open his eyes. He just had to wake up. He was having another nightmare. He was having another nightmare.

Part of him wished it was a hallucination or some sort of late night dream. Part of him wished he could blink and tap his heels together three times and find himself back in his bed stuck in another day of a nightmare.

He blinked. He wasn't out of it yet.

The two of them stare at each other for awhile. This wasn't one of those things they could just pass up and not talk about. Scott wanted to talk about this, and he was going to get answers, whether Stiles wanted to answer them or not.

Stiles Stilinski was a good person and his best friend. There was no way he could kill another person, let alone five.

"You."

The word echoes in his mind and Stiles takes a step forward as Scott inhales the scent of blood and comfort and alcohol and chips and-

"You Scott, you." He ran his hands around the other's arm and Scott flinched enough to show him he was terrified. Stiles smiled wide and looked into his friend's eyes, hands touching his face again. "Those people Scott, they were going to hurt you. They were-"

:: anita harrison :: carson riverter :: kyle tomilson :: unknown unknown ::

Scott gave him a look. "I hadn't spoken to those people in years, how and why would they hurt me?"

Stiles gave him a small smile. "Dude, it's not them who were going to hurt you." Scott furrowed an eyebrow and Stiles' smiled turned into a wide smirk. He grabbed Scott's hand and clutched it tightly. "Anita had Kira's name on the board, Kyle had Isaac's name in his voicemail, and Carson had a piece of paper with the name Allison."

"What about it?"

He gave him a look. "Allison nearly shot Lydia dead straight in the eye, Isaac's a ticking time bomb who has the capability of hurting someone."

"Not me."

"Not taking any chances." Stiles shrugged. "Kira, Kira was just someone I wasn't sure about. Scott, there were too many chances for you to get hurt. Don't you think you've been hurt enough?"

There was sincerity in his voice that made him shudder, and Scott knew he shouldn't have believed the boy with shiny dead eyes and suddenly freezing touch. But he did, this was Stiles. Stiles couldn't hurt anything.

"You were going to hurt them? Stiles but they're all friends."

Stiles shakes his head. "I wasn't going to hurt /them/ Scott, they're not really our friends. Allison and Isaac and Kira. Don't you see it Scott? They're not our friends. They have werid things inside of them, I was going to kill what they were going to become. They're evil Scott, and you know it and I know and no one could be trusted anymore." He blinked. "Except of me of course, you trust me right? You believe me, right? C'mon dude." 

His friend's thumb strokes his hand and Scott leans in a bit closer and falls falls falls. Stiles smiles wide at him and furrows an eyebrow. Scott leans in a bit closer and touches his face. 

"I believe you." He tells him, although there is some hesitation in his voice. Stiles nods his head. They're entirely sober and two boys who are best friends. He feels a sense of nervousness in his next few movements and Scott shifts his weight in between his legs as he kisses the side of Stiles' mouth.

Stiles pauses and takes in a deep breath. "I'm sober, you know that right?" He asks him and Scott nods his head and kisses him long and hard. Stiles takes a second to regain consciousness but kisses his best friend back with hands on his face as he pulled him closer.

It feels like the night before, only less clumsy and awkward. Stiles knows where to put his hands instead of roaming everywhere on Scott and Scott remembers less tongue equals less slobber.

They're in the state of nirvana when their mouths touch and Scott holds his position when Stiles, breathless, lets go to lean his head on his shoulder. He smells like blood still, but smells like home.

\---

Stiles isn't a bad guy.

Right?

He isn't so sure about it anymore. Actually, Scott isn't sure if he's sure about anything anymore. His mind was wandering everywhere and every second he could feel himself fading away. In between hallucinations to sleepwalking to nights spent screaming more than sleeping. The simplest touch gave him a panic attack within seconds. He hadn't had a good night's rest in almost five weeks and Scott could barely distinguish what was real or what was reality. 

He was in english class at the moment. They were starting the Shakespeare unit with Hamlet. He looks up and sees the back of Stiles' head and swallows hard. Scott keeps himself occupied staring at the band aides lining up against his arms. Messily done, Scott is sure Stiles used the whole package, and yet he could still see one too many lacerations on his arm.

The night before, the Beacon Hills police found Christina Gomez's body in the woods after she had been hanged. Christina was the Beacon Hills Middle School librarian. She used to yell at Stiles and him for talking too much when their class had their weekly library trip. His father came home with a headache trying to play a game of chess without all of the pieces. 

"One of the most famous arguments in Hamlet is whether or not Hamlet is faking his own insanity or actually insane. Shakespeare uses quite a few motifs and various angles to display how all of the things in Hamlet's life are causing him to act this way."

Someone raises their hand. "Like how he was cockblocked by Polonius to get to Ophelia?" 

He rolls his eyes and laughs. His hands mindlessly dangle from his desk and Stiles turns around to smile at Scott. He lets his left arm dangle and intertwines his and Scott's fingers. Scott leans into the touch and rests his head as close to Stiles' back as he could get. He feels his breath slow down and the beat of his heart go down. He clutches Stiles' hand a bit tighter. He's wearing his jacket while Stiles wears his sweater. They match their breathing as the teacher speaks. 

"There was no 'cockblocking' involved in this play, but there is a bit of switching. Many critics believe Shakespeare's beloved character to have been switching between insanity and sanity, and his insanity was what helped with his revenge, while his sanity was the remorse he felt for his actions." 

He wonders what Stiles was thinking when he killed all those people, what he meant about the evil that lied behind Allison or Isaac or Kira. Stiles tells him he could see the evil that infests inside of them and claw at their insides. But promises to take them out, without anyone getting hurt. He turns his head to Allison from the other side of the room. She smiles at him wide-eyed and points to his and Stiles' hands. He has a lot of explaining to do later. 

She looks completely normal. But Stiles, Stiles would never lie.

"Hamlet isn't too remorseful with his actions, quite frankly he is quite dark. He refuses to kill Claudius while he is praying because he wants his soul to go to complete damnation. The entire play could be seen like a game I mean, Hamlet and Claudius. Hamlet tries to kill his uncle to extract revenge for the death of his father. By killing all those people - people who were close to Claudius - then he was hurting him too, and or getting closer to his goal." 

Scott grips Stiles' hand a bit tighter after he feels him squeezing his.

"It is Hamlet's insanity that brings him closer to his goal. It is his sanity that makes him realize his insanity." 

The bell rings and Scott could feel his fingers being crushed by Stiles' hands. 

\---

It started off with a kiss, and it ended up like this.

A kiss of course, ever since bro night number one in the woods Scott and Stiles did nothing but have bro nights. Only bro nights ended up being make out nights or talking nights or nights they would fall asleep in each other's arms and whisper about the darkness that consumed their minds and how terrified they were. Stiles would wrap his arms around Scott's waist and kiss his forehead while Scott leaned his head against Stiles' chest.

It was funny at first, and awkward and weird. Their friends could see something strange was happening and Lydia was the first to start making remarks about how they were acting strange, and if the couple was having a lover's quarrel. They went to school and stared at each other and agreed without words to never talk about the kiss that happened in the woods. 

But it wasn't until a week later did Scott find himself walking up to Stiles during cross country practice, the two of them ahead of everyone else. Scott nudged his shoulder and kissed him starry-eyed before running away.

"Do you like me?" Scott asked, and he felt like an eight year old talking to another eight year old. Stiles rolls his eyes and moves towards Scott with a nervous look on his face. He was sober with no alcohol or supernatural occurances around to give him an excuse. Stiles felt defenseless and realized Scott was getting more clever with his questions.

"I love you." Stiles grins. "But then again I always have."

Scott pursed his lips together and shrugged. "Do you want to make out with me then?" He asks in return and the two of them ended up making out at the curve near the woods.

They read the books they needed to for english and Scott copied Stiles' math homework while Stiles copied his science homework. They held hands the entire time and played every CD in the car until Scott started making horribly corny mix CDs of music he knew Stiles hated but lied and said he liked to listen to. 

He can't remember the last time he had ever been that happy. But every second wrapped around Stiles' arms he could feel the earthquake stop. 

That night it rained, and Scott sat in the back of the Jeep with his face deep into Hamlet trying to finish the last couple of acts. Stiles has his arms tightly around Scott as he leans his head against the other's body. He reads him bits and pieces of Hamlet and tries to read it in present-day english in different accents. Stiles rolls his eyes at his British accent but smiles hard when Scott tries to talk like a rap star. He kisses the side of his head and wraps his arms around him a bit tighter. 

"Diggity diggity be or diggity diggity not to be. That's the question, yo." 

"You're stupid." Stiles laughs and Scott tilts his head up and kisses Stiles straight on the mouth. Stiles hums happily and nuzzles Scott underneath his head. "It's more like Hot damn, do I die or not die yo. He's debating over suicide, and not for the first time in the story. He needs to wake up from this nightmare." 

Scott laughs. "You seem to know Hamlet on a personal level." 

"We have more in common than you think." Stiles deadpans and he picks up his phone and smiles happily. Scott smiles back and leans his head against the other's shoulder. "Hey now, _wake up_. Don't fall asleep on me just yet."

"I'm not going to sleep, I promise." 

Stiles smirks in response and Scott drops the book down and lies on top of Stiles, mouth against his throat. Stiles grins and leans his back against his elbows. Stiles tilts his head up and kisses the corner of Scott's mouth before he grabs his ass. 

"Touchy," he grins and Stiles nods his head and tilts his head to the side as he presses his mouth to the side of Scott's neck. He pulls him back and places his hands on his cheeks. 

It's weird how well Stiles is, Scott thinks to himself, and he finds himself clumsily holding onto the other and too embarrassed as he kisses his friend's neck and accidentally bumps their noses together. He gasps when he knees Stiles in the gut and hears his reaction. 

But they laugh it off, and despite everything that has happened, Scott realizes he's falling in love with his best friend more and more every second.

He's not sure what's happening. 

\---

They fall asleep shortly afterwards and Scott wakes up from his boyfriend's arms. 

He untangles himself though, and walks outside and hears someone call for him. Another game of cat and mouse, Scott thinks to himself, as he takes a step forward and realizes there's nothing. His feet tread against the ground and Scott runs his way around the woods terrified and scared. 

Stiles is not a bad guy. He will never ever be a bad guy. 

Scott takes a step to the left, then the right. He can't catch his breath as he runs. His mind races and his fingers twitch again. He can't breathe. 

But Scott still manages to run his way through the woods trying to find it. He knows it's there, he knows it. His steps go a bit faster and Scott could hear screaming - screaming? He could hear the sound of someone's breath. 

His hands ball into small fists and Scott could feel his teeth sharpen. His heartbeat goes beyond levels he could imagine as his chest tightens. The screaming grows louder and louder and the whole hour accelerates into something that goes beyond what he could reach. 

Control is lacking, and Scott doesn't feel human, he feels like a monster. His need for blood increases and he could smell it a mile away. There's fire in his eyes and anger running through his veins.

He still runs though, faster than before until every piece and fiber of energy has been used up. 

Nothing could bring him back to humanity. He wasn't human. He was a monster.

\---

The body isn't dead they tell him. They hold his shoulders and make sure he's standing behind the police car, arms up in the air. He's a criminal for a crime he didn't commit, at least, he didn't think he committed.

That morning Scott woke up to the sound of blue and red lights and police cars swerving. That morning Scott woke up to the smell of fresh blood on a tree and someone screaming, a familiar voice screaming. That morning Scott woke up to his father tied behind a tree with wire wrapped around his wrists and cuts on his faces. Almost murder they called it. The police found him lying next to the body with bloody hands. 

He's not a murderer at least. He's not a bad guy. He's not evil. He's not evil. He's not evil. 

But he knows there's a good (great) chance it must have been him this time. He lost control the night before, and Scott could feel the sharpness of his teeth still and the way his fingers turned into claws. Sheriff Stilinski grabs his shoulder and Scott flinches at the touch. He doesn't dare look at him. 

"Scott." Sheriff tells him, and he squeezes his shoulder gently. "I know this isn't you. If you have an idea of who did you. You have to let us know."

Scott doesn't say a word. 

"Innocent people are dying Scott, and you could save them right now, Scott.  Just tell me the name-" 

He shakes his head. "I don't now who's doing this." 

"Scott." 

"I don't," he closes his eyes and sucks in a breath. He wonders where Stiles is, whether or not he drove home or if he's still asleep in the Jeep. He wonders if Stiles knows what had happened, if he had done it. 

Stiles is not a bad guy. 

Scott shakes his head some more and watches the stretchers pull his dad onto the ambulance. Sheriff now, not Mr. Stilinski, tells him to put his hands down and Scott leans against the back of the police car running a hand through his hair. He's in police mode now and Scott is some teenager who was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Scott wants to know where Stiles is and fights the need to ask about him. 

He doesn't want to keep hurting people. 

\---

"They think, they think I did it. Don't they?" Scott asks her as he makes circles against Allison's bed sheets with his finger. She runs a hand through her hair and smiles at him weakly. Her touch isn't as warm as he remembers, but Scott still leans into it. 

Mr. McCall is still in the hospital they tell him, and he'll be fine, but in there for awhile. Sheriff Stilinski is doing everything he can to convince the rest of the police that it wasn't his fault. But the facts and clues are adding up, and Scott seems like the main culprit. 

He was a boy who was lost between the lines of sanity and insanity. He used madness to allow himself the ability to fight, but used sanity as a way to become human. 

Scott sucks in a breath and lies back against the bed. "I'm a terrible person, aren't I?" 

He doesn't open his eyes but Scott could already see Allison rolling her eyes. He lifts himself up by his elbows and she stares at him with both frustration and also pity. Scott stares at her and wonders what kind of evils infests her, like Stiles told him. He still feels coldnesss from Allison's finger tips. 

Her fingers touch the side of his face and Scott flinches slightly. "Scott McCall, you could never ever be a terrible person nor a murderer," she laughs and runs a hand through his hair. "There's no way you killed those people, it'd be like a puppy dog terrorizing all of Beacon Hills. Don't worry about it."

Scott shrugged his shoulders. "I know who did it though." 

Allison gave him look and furrowed an eyebrow. "Really now," she paused. "Who did it then?" 

"I can't tell you." 

She gives him the same look she had given him one too many times in their relationship. It's the look that tells Scott to fess up to whatever he knew and she didn't. He doesn't say anything. Allison stares him down for an extra five minutes. 

"People are going to get hurt if you don't do something." She tells him, and Scott knows he has to do something, but he still won't tell her what he knows. 

They sit in silence again and Allison goes back to her computer and types whatever she was searching up. Scott lies back against the bed and grabs a fistful of the blankets. He hasn't seen Stiles since the incident. But he prays he's okay. He prays no one else gets hurt in the next few days or hours or minutes or seconds.

He closes his eyes and yanks the bed hard enough he could feel the covers moving a bit. He lies on his side and whimpers slightly. 

\---

"Scott."

Her voice is drowned by the sound of his best friend's screams. Stiles is not a bad guy, he's not a bad person. Scott turns in the bed left and right and keeps yanking the sheets. 

"Scott!"

Allison is not there. Stiles is not there. Scott stops breathing and his hands are limp. He hears Allison gasp as her hands roam his body and shake him. 

"Scott, _wake up_."

In an instant somehow his eyes his eyes flash open an Scott blinks a few ties to make sure he's actually awake. Scott looks at his hands and count ten, fingers, ten in total and five on both hands. He's not asleep. This is real. 

"I know who killed all those people." Allison tells him and Scott could feel his heart pounding in his chest. He jumps up from the bed with wide eyes and runs. 

\---

"Hey Stiles, I just... I just wanted you to know I don't care whether or not you killed all those people. I just love you a lot okay?" 

Scott pauses, repeats the words again and again again until they sound wrong and play in his head backwards and frontwards. It feels weird telling Stiles he loves him, despite having had done so before. It's a different kind of love than the love he felt three weeks ago. And Scott knows it for a fact that he is in dear and honest love with Stiles Stilinski.

"I love you Stiles, I love you so much. Don't you dare think I hate you because I will never hate you. I will never hate you Stiles. Never. 

You're never going to be the bad guy Stiles. I promise. You will never be a bad guy in my book." 

\---

He could sell the scent of burning flesh and fire by the time he wakes up. Scott fumbles with his hands and notices they're tired behind his back, and metal- he thinks it's metal - wire pierces his skin. Silver wire they used, and the thin piece cuts deep into his flesh. He's stuck behind a tree and can feel a trickle of blood from his forehead.

His eyes wander to the side and Scott stares at the body of his friends, all not breathing, all bloody. The smell of gasoline hits his nose. He's not in the motel. There's no sigh of mountain ash. He can't count the number of fingers on his hands. 

Is he dreaming. He hopes he's dreaming. 

Allison's opened mouth hangs as her eyes close and her arms stay behind her back. She looks peaceful dead, but Scott can't help but realize he is seeing the death of a girl who had dreams of growing up to become the leader of an entire family. He notices the jacket she's wearing was the one she was wearing when he last saw her. It feels like someone punched him in the guy a few times.

He wished he could have saved her. But she could take care of herself. Allison always could take care of herself. 

Isaac's hair is messier than usual and his eyes are close rather than open. Scott finds a bit of comfort in that, but he also can't help but try and yank his hand forward and touch him. Isaac looks peaceful dead too, but also scary. He's a boy who didn't get to live his life fully and was promised popularity and strength and power. If only he could have been saved. 

Like Allison, it was obvious Kira didn't go down without a fight. And Scott could see the bruises on her neck that showed the struggle Kira put up with before her last dying moments. He wondered what flashed through her mind. Probably how stupid of an idea it was to move back to Beacon Hills. He wished he could have saved her. 

They weren't only his friends, but they were people, they were _teenagers_. His gut feels like someone punched into it a few times until the wind was knocked right out of him. These were teenagers who could have had lives and make families and become something and live past the dangers that was their hometown. These people were going to go to college and do something great with their lives. 

He thought about their parents, what Mr. Argent would think and Kira's parents. He wondered what his mom would think when she saw Isaac's body for the first time. These people had families, and these families would be welcomed with one less chair at the dinner table later that night.

Now they were just more bodies to add to the morgue.

People are missing of course, and Scott wonders the madness that went through the murderer's mind when he decided to leave the rest of those people alive. He thinks about how everyone would react. Derek's guilt infesting him even more once he holds onto Isaac's dead body, or how Lydia would hold her beset friend's body and realize she'd have no one to talk to at twelve in the morning and no best friend to spend senior year with. The twins would stay up wondering when it'd be their turn.

He wish he could have saved everyone. 

He could have saved someone.

Scott yanks himself forward. He tries to talk, but his mouth is too dry and coarse. He chews against his lip and tries to ignore the smell of gasoline and rotting teenage bodies. He wants to scream. But he can't. 

He knows Stiles- Stiles is the person behind of all of this. He's the one who killed Allison and Isaac and Kira and was going mad with power. He couldn't do this, and he wouldn't hurt his friends either. But Stiles, even if he promised he wouldn't, there couldn't be any other option but-

"Stiles." Scott says almost breathless as he looks up at his best friend with wide eyes. Stiles' eyes are blank and emotionless as they stare at him, and Scott chews against his lip and tries to walk through and break his binds. The wire sinks into his skin a bit deeper and Scott grits his teeth.

Stiles touches Scott's face, and Scott flinches at the feel of his hands. This was the person he first saw the day Stiles kissed him for the first time. It wasn't him, but it was him. 

Was he going mad.

"S-Stiles?" Scott spurts out, and he feels the other's hand on his mouth, fingers tracing his lips. He opens his mouth to say something but 'Stiles' smiles at him weakly and touches his face again. "Stiles, w-what are you doing?"

He continues to touch Scott's face just barely.. His friend looks half-awake and half-asleep, lost in a world that's both a dream and reality. Scott pushes forward but that just makes his arms hurt even more. 

Stiles paces around him for a moment. "To be, or not to be, that is the question," he begins and Scott could feel his heart race in his chest. Electric rushes through his body and he leans against the tree for support. "Whether 'tis Nobler in the mind to suffer The Slings and Arrows of outrageous Fortune, or to take Arms against a Sea of troubles, And by opposing end them? To die, to sleep— No more; and by a sleep, to say we end." 

"Stiles." Scott calls out confused and slightly terrified.

Stiles shakes his head and walks around Scott in circles. "I've come to realize something." Stiles tells him, and his voice is shaking as if he's trying to find the sanity in the madness that's overtaking him. "I've been trying to find threats to you this entire time. People I knew were going to help you but- I've come to realize the biggest threat to you of all." 

Scott grips his hands together. 

"The biggest threat to you Scott, is _yourself_. And I've just _waken up_ to realize that Scott, _waken up_ to it. _Wake up, wake up, wake up._ "

_Wake up._

_Wake up._

_Wake up._

\---

The sound of a heart monitor plays in his ears, and Scott opens his eyes wide enough for him to see where he was: The Beacon Hills Hospital.

He gets up enough to look down at himself, he was the patient. 

"Scott," he hears a voice say, it's Allison. Scott turns his head and smiles brightly at the girl with a beating heart who was truly and alive. She's excited and cheerful and picks up his hand with enough warmth to make him ooze inside. He turns his head to the side. He says the first thing that comes to mind: "Where's Stiles?" 

Allison frowns slightly, and points to the bed next to him with an obviously sleeping patient. Scott smiles brightly at the sight of his best friend asleep next to him with a deflated get better balloon. He wonders how long he's stayed there. 

"How are you feeling? We were so scared Scott. You were knocked out for a three days straight." Three days? 

"We're trying to figure what happened, they think you had 'Wake Up' Syndrome. Stiles explained most of it, but it's basically this thing where when someone is enduring great suffering they go into this dream state where they won't wake up." 

Wake up. Scott remembers. Everyone kept tell him to wake up wake up wake up. 

"It's exactly like our world, totally normal except they weren't enduring what they were in the current world. And throughout the whole thing there'd be little hints telling them to wake up. But even then the victim wouldn't wake up."

Wake up, Scott remembers, wake up.

"You could have not waken up Scott, we're so glad you did though. We're so glad you did." 

Scott simply nods in response as he looks up at Allison with a smile. He reaches his hand out and gestures towards her as he touches her arm, feeling nothing. There isn't a spark, but Scott still manages to grab her hand and hold it tightly in his. It feels real, it feels warm. 

\---

Lydia stopped by later that day to check if he was okay, and with her came along Aiden and Ethan, who were more sympathetic than expected. The three of them told Scott to get better as soon as possible, asked what happened in his catatonic state. He told them the jest of it, and left out a few minor details. He didn't want to worry them. 

Derek stopped by to check on Scott, as he had been doing constantly without being seen by the rest of the group. He begs for answers about what happened, but Scott refuses to tell him anything just yet. He knows when he's lying and when there's more to the story than what Scott tells him. But Derek still finds himself telling Scott to feel better and leaves without any further notice. 

His mom and dad come in later on, together. It's the first time Scott sees his parents not fighting. His dad comes in and for the first time in a long time Scott hugs his father after he feels him hug him back. The two of them agree to talk about everything when he gets home. Ms. McCall tells Scott she'll back to check on him later. She's the one who brings him extra pillows when it's nighttime and blankets when he shivers. He could see the bags under her eyes from the last couple days. Scott tells her to go to sleep when she gets home. She tells him she loves him. 

Deaton and Sheriff come afterwards, and after Sheriff rolls his eyes at his still asleep son, he grabs Scott's shoulder and tells him he's the bravest kid he's ever met. Deaton tells Scott to explain to him what happened in the dream, word from word. He knows he can't lie to his boss, but Scott mumbles the word 'wake up' when they ask for a bit of what he saw in his state. 

Isaac and Allison are the last to leave, and the longest people who stayed (besides Stiles). They watch everyone carefully when they visit Scott and laugh when Stiles snores. Allison still clutches Scott's hand the entire time and smiles when he intertwines their fingers. There's a sense of happiness in Isaac's eye Scott sees. And that makes everything worth waiting for Scott to wake up. They don't ask questions, they're just happy he's there and awake and okay. 

"You are okay though right?" Allison asks, repeating the question she asked him for the third time that entire day. Scott squeezes her hand and smiles wide. "I just want to make sure." 

"I'm fine." 

Isaac ruffles his hair. "I'm really glad you're okay Scott," he tells him, obviously resisting the urge to hold Allison's other hand. "You scared me the entire time. I didn't want to lose you- not that I thought I could lose you, or we could lose you but-"

"I get it Isaac. Thanks for staying guys, really." 

Shortly afterwardsthey leave, and Scott turns around to wait for Stiles to wake up from his what seems to be ten thousand year nap. Scott can't help but see the way he lights up when sees him awake and Scott wraps his arm around his best friend first.

"Dude." Stiles tells him. "You do not realize how much I prayed you'd wake up." 

"I have an idea." Scott told him with a smile. "I'm glad to be back." 

He wonders what would happen if he kissed him like in the dream. And Scott wonders what would happen if he kissed his best friend if Stiles, like dream Stiles, liked him more than a friend too. Scott clutched his hand and held it tighter with intertwined fingers. He felt the warmth travel from his hand before it spread around his body.Stiles tells him him how much he's missed him, how worried he had been. He whispers about nights spent staying up and watching Scott's heart  monitor and freaking out every second it would stop. 

He talks about various things like parallel universes and the whole concept of the Wake Up Syndrome. He tells him about the nightmare he had a couple of times. Something was possessing him and making him kill a bunch of people. He can't remember their names, but he could remember the smell of rusty metal and potato chips and and rain water from one dream. The rest are just blurs. 

Stiles starts to talk so much, Scott decides to pull him forward and kiss him himself. He doesn't let a dead body be the reason for their first kiss, although it usually was just that madee most of the iimportant events in their lives. Stiles hums a bit and stares down at his friend with a confused expression on his face. 

"What- what was that for?" Stiles asks him slightly confused but also some kind of jittery happiness.

"I'm just really glad to see you." 

They smiles at each other, and Stiles doesn't question it for a moment but clumsily reaches forward and kisses Scott back. He elbows his stomach and their faces almost smash against each other. Scott smiles though the entire time. 

He's home and he knows it. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> The Wake Up syndrome comes from the creepypasta 'Wake Up'.
> 
> To the person this is for, you are a wonderful and amazing person in every way and form. It has been one of my best decisions to follow you and I hope you realize how brilliant you are every single day.


End file.
